A Bad Combination
by Asuraum
Summary: A new criminal has arisen in London, along with his pet. A ferocious, dangerous creature. As secretly injured Sherlock makes connections, with the help of John, time slowly unravels this gruesome case. Will Sherlock be able to put and end to the string of bloody homicides or will it put a stop to him?
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first Sherlock fanfiction so take it easy if its bad. I've had plenty of experience writing fanfictions in the past, so it shouldn't be too terrible. I tried to keep them all in character. Sherlock wasn't too difficult. I often have similar behavior to him. Anyway, I wasn't originally going to post this. It was only supposed to be for my own entertainment because I was bored and I wrote it my my 'crap' notebook. Then I caught my mother reading it and she said it was really good. So, I guess you can thank my mom. I continued it for her. I should also mention this is in no way a JohnLock fic. I like to think of their relationship more as being best friends. Anyway, I own no characters, BBC does. Enjoy! **

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Sherlock knew their case was nearing and end. He could feel it. Or so he thought. But John hadn't allowed for them to stay out much longer after the days events. Mostly because they had been attacked by a man with an animal which was trained to kill. The creature had made out for Sherlock but he had dodged narrowly. The killer and the creature had escaped, leaving behind a furious Sherlock and a tired and shocked John. It was also late. Nearing one A.M to be exact, which never had stopped Sherlock. That was why John was shocked at how easy it was to get Sherlock to agree to returning to the flat. They had just arrived inside 221B and John took off his coat but not Sherlock. He kept on the thick black trench coat.

"Why don't you take your coat of?" John asked him when he noticed, noting the second case of odd behavior from his flatmate.

"It's a bit chilled in here, don't you think?" Was Sherlock's immediate response.

"No.. You feelin' okay?" John eyed Sherlock warily.

"I'm fine." He replied, glancing at the morning paper that had been left sprawled on the table.

"Alright. I'll make up a pot of kea, k'?"

Sherlock only gave a muffled "Mm" before proceeding into the bathroom and shutting the door firmly behind him with the click of the lock.

John heard the shower turn on and continued to make the tea, wondering why Sherlock was acting funny.

Once shed of his coat, Sherlock moved his eyes to the mirror for confirmation. Sure enough warm crimson liquid was seeping through the shoulder and upper arm of his right sleeve. He sighed quietly. It will stain. He'll have to throw it out. If John has become observant enough, he might notice. He doubted it though. He continued to remove the sticky wet shirt to further examine his wound but the blood was flowing so thick it was impossible to see anything. Sherlock proceeded into the shower after he had stripped off his other garments and let the red tinted water wash down the drain. The liquid stung but he ignored it and it soon became a numb, pulsing soreness. He stayed there, pondering his options. He didn't want John to make a fuss over it, which he knew he would. He always did. It's only a scratch though... Sherlock thought. He'd just leave it there then. His body was just transport after all. Sherlock jumped when there was a sudden knock on the door.

"Sherlock, you okay?" John called through the door. "You've been in there an awfully long time."

"I'm fine, John. Absolutely fine."

He stepped out of the showed and turned it off, wrapping a off white towel around his waist. He reexamined his arm. It didn't look much better. The bleeding had stopped though.

John handed him a hot mug of tea when Sherlock reentered the room in his light blue dressing gown and t-shirt.

"Thank you." He said, taking the mug and sitting on the couch with it, turning his eyes up to stare at the many pieces of evidence they'd collected for the case. Most of them were hanging sloppily organized on the wall.

John still stood, leaning against the doorframe, sipping on his tea and examining Sherlock, like he did evidence.

"Sherlock," He said at last. "You should go to bed. I mean, get a bit of sleep before starting back up on the case again."

"Why?" Sherlock's usual response.

"Because you seem a bit... off..."

"I'm not off, John. You're the one who's tired. You've already started imagining things." Sherlock replied in an almost mocking tone.

"Ha, ha. Very funny." John retorted lamely. "Just try to get a bit of rest. You're still human."

"Just transport..." He muttered, pulling his knees up against his chest, resting his chin on them and staring intently at the wall of evidence.

John sighed, looking at his childish flatmate then finished off his tea. He went upstairs to his own bed with the very small hope that Sherlock would heed his advice.

When John woke, he was shocked to find it was nearly half past ten. He jumped up, despite his bodies still sleepy protests, and threw on his normal attire; a knitted jumper and a pair of thick jeans. Sherlock would be furious, or already gone. Or waiting impatiently. Whenever John slept in Sherlock would eventually come into his bedroom and throw something at him, complaining for him to 'Get up already'. John grabbed his phone and shoved it into his pocket and stumbled downstairs and into the sitting room. He was about to turn into the kitchen, expecting to find the detective doing some experiment but something caught his eyes. There was Sherlock, curled on the couch, sleeping soundly. Normally it wouldn't worry John but Sherlock rarely lets himself fall asleep on the couch if he can help himself, and nonetheless, was always awake when John got downstairs.

"You awake, Sherlock?" John questioned warily.

A few seconds went by before a muffled response.

"Mm.." Sherlock grunted, waving a lazy hand from under the blanket.

"You okay? Feeling a bit ill?" He asked and walked over to his flatmate.

"Fine. Why wouldn't I be fine. I'm fine.." Sherlock slurred, his voice still strewn with sleep.

The doctor in John was screaming at him to check the detectives temperature. Maybe he had overworked himself to much this time. He didn't doubt that.

"Well... You see pretty out of it today so we'll leave off the case-"

"No!" Sherlock sat up with a sudden burst of energy, and John didn't fail to notice him flinch. "We are so close to closing this case, John. One day off would be too many."

Sherlock stood and walked by John, who was looking at him, confused. He followed him into the kitchen and watched the detective put on the kettle. John leaned against the door frame.

"You do know what time it is, don't you?" He inquired blandly.

Sherlock only shrugged.

"It's," He pulled his sleeve to check his watch. "10:57."

Sherlock, for a second, wore a look of surprise. It vanished soon after and John raised an eyebrow.

"Yep, you're out of it. We're staying in today."

"Can't, John. I need to go look at the new body."

"What new body?"

As John finished his sentence there was a knock at the door. Sherlock shot John a satisfactory flare and turned off the kettle.

"Tell Lestrade we'll be right behind." He said and left an irritated John in the kitchen as he went into his room to put on his normal attire.

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**So what did you think? Good? Bad? I believe it starts to get better in chapter 2. I at one point had John say 'mate', but a friend who proofread it said all she could think was John as a pirate. So I changed it. Pirate!John? Ooh. Got some idea's now. I hope you enjoyed it and keep reading. I will try to post a chapter at least every week. A couple days apart at the minimum. I just get really busy with school and everything. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Here we go. Chapter 2. I do like this one. Any feedback would be appreciated. Enjoy.**

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**Chapter 2**

When in the cab, Sherlock stared out of the window, deep in his thoughts. John, in turn, kept looking at the consulting detective as if it would tell him the reason of Sherlock's strange behavior.

"Why are you staring?" Sherlock asked in monotone, making John jump.

John said nothing and the cab became silent again.

"John," Sherlock turned his head to look at him. "I am fine. You need not worry every time I act a little 'off', as you call it."

John was about to reply but the cab pulled to a stop and Sherlock opened the door and stepped out, leaving John to pay the fare to the cabbie and catch up with him.

Lestrade approached the two when he spotted them.

"Ah, come this way Sherlock."

The followed him.

"I may need more than two minutes to look at the body today." Sherlock told him blandly, following in large strides.

"Ha. You mean crime scene." Lestrade laughed as they rounded the corner into the doorway of the seemingly vacant building.

Sherlock eyes him, confused but stayed silent.

"What floor is it on?" John inquired.

"Top floor."

And that is where they continued to go, up several flights of stairs. Once there, the tang of metallic hit all threes nostrils; the overpowering scent of blood. They entered the second room on the right. Lestrade looked at Sherlock, waiting for him or John to say something. Neither looked even the slightest bit disturbed, unless you counted Sherlock's disturbing interest The room was splattered with blood. The floor, the ceiling , the walls. Any normal person would have fainted or at least thrown up at the sight of the blood room.

Sherlock immediately realized why Lestrade had denied the fact of a body; there wasn't one. Despite the blood caked room, the source of it wasn't there.

"No bodies." Sherlock, for once, stated the obvious, still scanning the room for evidence.

"No, none at all. None have been found anywhere else either. We believe it was the man and creature, though." Lestrade replied. "But there was a note."

Sherlock's bright, pale blue eyes turned to look at him in interest.

"A note? Let me see it." He said, demanding for it instead of asking. Like usual.

"Yeah," Lestrade pulled an evidence bag out of his pocket. "Good luck reading it. Only a few words can be made out."

Sherlock takes the clear bag and his eyes dance across it. John knows he is making a mental note of all the words, letters, numbers and symbols he can make out. After a drawn out moment Lestrade spoke.

"So, can you.. make 'deduce' anything from it..?" He asked, eying the dark-haired detective.

"Hmm.." Sherlock hummed thoughtfully, only glancing at Lestrade before looking back down at the note.

"Obviously it's not a suicide not, considering a high chance the body would be found with the blood, unless the apocalypse has started." He added sarcastically. "You can cross off jealously homicide. The killer used much more precision in his work-"

"Precision?" Lestrade cut him off, looking at him in disbelief. "It's literally a bloody mess! Someone with precision wouldn't be so messy."

"On the contrary, detective, it is exactly the opposite. The killer meant to leave he blood exactly like this. Look at the note he left. He made a puzzle for us. If you pay attention to every third digit, it's a quite easy code to crack."

Sherlock held up a long arm to the DI for him to look at the note. Lestrade took muttering every third digit to himself.

"What does it say?" John finally joined into the conversation, knowing Sherlock had already cracked the code himself.

Lestrade looked up expectantly at Sherlock.

"'Come and find me. 1441 Dundas Road.'" The consulting detective told them. "That is where he will strike next."

Lestrade sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"Alright, well I've got the blood sample and the results won't come back for a couple of hours. For now, go home and I'll call yo when they come in. And don't go running off. This man is extremely dangerous." He said and left the room.

John nodded and looked at Sherlock. He was staring at the bloodstained curtain. He walked over to him wearing a slight look of concern.

"Sherlock, are you okay?" He whispered, touching his shoulder.

John didn't fail to notice him grimace slightly again but didn't have time to mention it before Sherlock walked away from his and towards the curtain. The sound of his swift footsteps were covered by the splash of the blood as he stepped through the pool of it on the floor.

"Sherlock! What the hell do you think you're doing?!" John hissed at him, more angry about the fact that he'd be the one cleaning the dried blood off of the other mans shoes, than that the detective is disturbing a crime scene.

Sherlock didn't show any signs of hearing him and he stopped at the window, pushing aside the long drapes. He disappeared behind them and John let out a frustrated breath, following the consulting detective through the room.

"What are you doing, Sherlock?"

John reached the drapes and pushed the heavy fabric aside. Sherlock was no longer behind them but an open window was. As frustrated as the doctor was, he was overwhelmingly curious. He always was. He peered out the window and looked up, just in time to see the flap of Sherlock's coat flutter over the rooftop from the fire escape and onto the roof. John followed without much thought, up the fire escape and to the roof. He stood and spotted his flatmate staring out over the over the top of the next building. Sherlock glanced at John then looked back and his arm flew up to point at something John's normal mind couldn't be bothered to see.

"There." Sherlock stated. "Do you see it?"

"See what, Sherlock? The roof?" John joined him and strained his eyes to try to see what Sherlock's easily could.

"Oh, come on, John. Look harder." Sherlock growled, stretching his arm in a futile attempt to make John see what he was looking at.

John looked and tried to find whatever it was but soon gave up with a sigh.

"Will you just tell me what it is?"

Sherlock sighed in frustration and lowered his arm.

"The blood, John, the blood! There are a few drops on the roof opposite. That means that our killer left in that direction. He got over to that building somehow. It's a couple of feet wide. A fairly difficult leap for someone with a small frame. But we know that our suspected killed had a small build. Even someone taller would have difficulty and most likely wouldn't make it over either. I could always test my hypothesis..."

Sherlock backed up and it looked like he was about to attempt the leap. John jumped in front of him before he got less than a foot.

"Sherlock!" He shouted, loosing patience with the leap.

John jumped in front of him before he got less than a foot. "Alright, lets assume you're right. If a normal person is not able to up to jump that gap, how did the killer do it?"

Sherlock's face then brightened with realization after a moment of thought.

"Oh!" He muttered in sudden excitement, taking his phone from his pocket and looking at it intently, typing on it.

John's eyes flickered over him in confusion but he stayed silent, waiting patiently. After a long moment Sherlock shoved the phone back into his pocket and moved towards the stairwell, flinging the door open.

"Come on, John! We need to leave. Now!"

John followed, having to jump several steps of the stairwell to try to keep up with his flatmate. Sherlock had already hailed a cab and had opened the door by the time John reached the street. He climbed in after Sherlock and the cab pulled away.

"So do you want to tell me where we're going?"

Sherlock only stayed silent and remained staring out the window. John found himself sighing once more and did not attempt anymore conversation.

Sherlock's mind was fully focused on his recent findings for the case for at least the first ten minutes of the ride. He suddenly found a pulsing pain in his shoulder again which slowly continued to his head and stomach. He inconspicuously bit down on his finger and closed his eyes for a minute, waiting for the dizziness to pass, but still trying to focus on the information he had been trying to sort out in his head. What seemed liked a few minutes later, the cab pulled to a stop and he snapped his eyes open. He leaned forward and paid the cabbie, climbing out of the car followed by John. He pushed the pain in his shoulder to the very back corner of his mind. He turned to look at John who was standing beside him, staring with wide eyes at the scene in front of them.

"Sherlock... Why are we at the circus..?"

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**Yes, I know. The circus. 'What the hell are they doing at the circus?'. Well, be patient and wait to find out. Either that or read back and try to figure it out yourself. It's not hard to do. **


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